


and i breathe, and it goes

by jadeddiva



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-14
Updated: 2013-11-14
Packaged: 2018-01-01 10:39:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1043824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadeddiva/pseuds/jadeddiva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Emma doesn’t do touching. So this – the feeling of Hook’s arm around her, the way she allows herself to be tucked into his body in this cold frigid wind – it is weird and yet not, at the same time, for all the sense that makes.</p>
    </blockquote>





	and i breathe, and it goes

**Author's Note:**

> Emma doesn’t do touching. So this – the feeling of Hook’s arm around her, the way she allows herself to be tucked into his body in this cold frigid wind – it is weird and yet not, at the same time, for all the sense that makes.

**and I’ll breathe, and it goes**

Emma wraps her arms around her torso.  After just six days in Neverland, she’s surprisingly unprepared for the bitter chill of Storybrooke and so she pulls her coat tightly around her body and stomps her feet up and down to keep warm.  

This is the first time that her arms have been free since they escaped Pan’s hideout.   Henry has clung to her since they rescued him from Skull Rock and she’s finally shifted him over to Regina’s care.   He looks so sleepy, resting his head against against Regina’s chest, and Emma – well, she totally knows that feeling.

She is so exhausted that her _bones_ hurt, and she thinks that’s not entirely normal.  It might be the magic she’s just started to use, it might be the stress (Henry Neal David even _Hook_ ), it might be that she doesn’t sleep well outdoors.  Whatever the case, she is so ready for this to be over.

That is, until everyone suggests that they go to Granny’s for food. 

As they start to walk away from the dock and towards town, all Emma can think about is food and sleep.  She’d kill for a freaking cheeseburger right now and oh god, a chocolate milkshake would be great too.   Her stomach growls and her limbs ache and she’s so ready to just eat and dive into her bed and under her comforters and sleep until next week.  She doesn’t even care that they returned at 2pm on a Thursday, she’s just ready to draw the curtains and bury her head under a pillow.

First, though, food.

She is concentrating so hard on the thought that she doesn’t notice when there’s a curb right in front of her – and a hand on her back, guiding her gently away from it.  She doesn’t even have to turn around to know whose hand it is.

“As delightful as it would be to have you fall into my arms, love,” a saucy voice says in her ear, “I hardly think this is the time or place.”

“Oh, now isn’t the time?” she teases him, shifting her position so that his hand is still on her back, her body turning into his.  Hook guides her with his hand, carefully, so that she steps down from the dock without killing herself in the process (it would suck to have come so far only to eat it in Storybrooke).  “I thought you said that when we get home that the fun begins?”

 “You look exhausted,” he tells her, frowning.  He looks concerned, and she knows that she must seem pretty beat.   He doesn’t look at that much better himself.  He winks at her, face changing into that satisfied smirk she’s so used to.  “It would hardly be good form to woo you in your current state.”

“Woo?” she asks, almost tripping over a grate in the street.  She wraps her arm around him for support.  She’s not even trying to be flirty, she’s just trying to stay upright, and she thinks he knows as much.  “Did we travel back in time when we went to Neverland?”

“Well, I’m not familiar with your vernacular, but I did promise I would win your heart,” he tells her.  He hasn’t moved his hand, and instead he rests it on her side, right above her hip, steady and firm enough to make sure that he’ll catch her if he falls.

She rolls her eyes at the potentially romantic spin he could place on that phrase if she uttered it.

Emma is really grateful that they are lagging behind, because she doesn’t want to deal with any smart-ass comments or concerned looks right now.  Everyone has been eyeing the two of them since the Echo Cave and she doesn’t feel like justifying or explain her actions.  As far as she is concerned, there is nothing wrong with what she is choosing to do to stay upright.

Her stomach growls, and she groans.  “I think my stomach is going to eat itself.”

Hook just laughs, and she feels it as a warm exhale on her cheek.  It makes her shiver, and she’s not entirely sure it’s from the cold.

The feeling of his arm around her is not bad – in fact, she’s already getting some of his body warmth through his leather jacket, and there’s a surprisingly lack of awkwardness in this act.  What’s more surprising is that she’s okay with him touching her.

Emma doesn’t do touching. It’s not that she cares if people do touch her, because she can’t stop Mary Margaret from playing with her hair and she can’t help if Henry shows affection through hugs (she’ll give Regina that much, the son she raised is an affectionate young man).    She just doesn’t do it.  She doesn’t know how to touch, and how long, and with any degree of confidence.   The only person she touches is Henry, but that’s because she sees him as an extension of herself (she did carry him alone for nine months - he’s as much a part of her as she is a part of him).

So this – the feeling of Hook’s arm around her, the way she allows herself to be tucked into his body in this cold frigid wind – it is weird and yet not, at the same time, for all the sense that makes.  She knows this is dangerous, letting him think that she’s making her choice, signaling to anyone who turns around. Neal (who walks with Henry and Regina) think that she’s already chosen when she hasn’t (why does she even have to choose? What is this noise about choosing and fighting for her love and _where was all this all those years she was alone?)_ but he’s so warm and it’s so comfortable, curled against his side, that she doesn’t want to leave.

The thought that she wants to stay like this makes her miss a step, makes him steady her, makes her breath catch in her throat when he looks at her and asks her if she’s all right.

This is a far cry from the relationship she had with the pirate when they first started to climb the beanstalk, and it’s definitely a different place than she was when they left for Neverland.  Something has changed between them in the time between then and now, and she doesn’t quite have a handle on it but she knows she likes it enough to not want to leave where she is right now.

The next thing she says surprises her even more than being held.

“When we get to Granny’s, I’m getting my cheeseburger to go,” Emma tells Hook.  “Why don’t you come over and we can eat at the loft?”  She is surprised at the fear and nervousness that bubbles up in her stomach at the request, but what is spoken can’t be unspoken, and she means every word of it.

She can feel rather than hear his breath hitch, and she pokes him in the ribs.  “Are you sure about that, love? Wouldn’t you rather be celebrating with your family?”

Emma shrugs.  “I’ve been with people for the better part of a week.  I can only handle so much.”

“I’m people too,” Hook points out, and she shakes her head.

“You’re different,” she tells him. “Besides, I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t mean it.”

He nods – that much she can feel against her head.  “All right, then.  Far be it from me to turn down free food.”

“Who said I was paying?” she laughs, and he smiles – it’s one of those rare smiles he gives her that’s not followed by a saucy grin or a smirk or a wink.  It’s like there’s someone else, there, inside of him that she’s only just beginning to see, and it leaves her breathless.

“You aren’t staying?” Mary Margaret asks as Emma places her order and then waits on a stool, Hook lingering next to her.   He looks so uncomfortable now in the midst of all the denizens of Storybrooke, but when she glances at him his look changes and he winks, trying to hide the emotions of a moment ago.  She knows that game, but it doesn’t stop her rolling her eyes and looks away, back to her mother. 

“I’m sorry, I’m just exhausted,” Emma tells her, feeling like it is a lie.  Yes, she is tired, and yes, she’s hungry, but she’s also a little overwhelmed by the sheer amount of time that she’s spent with people, and it’s so very hard to explain that to anyone when her parents are extroverts extraordinaire and she, well, there’s a limit to her people time.

A limit that apparently excludes Hook, who is carefully examining the diner’s selection of muffins while listening to every word she says.

It’s weird that she wants him with her - that his presence is the only she knows she can tolerate, that she doesn’t want to be separated from him.  Just six days and her entire world has flipped to the point that the loss of his arm around her as they wait for food bothers her in ways that she doesn’t quite know how to process.

“I’ll see if he can stay with Regina tonight,” Emma tells her mother.  “He should sleep in his own bed and get some rest.” 

 “Two burgers to go,” Ruby comes out the back and hands a bag to Emma.  “Fries on the side.”

“Thanks Ruby,” Emma says as she takes the bag.  She looks over at Hook.  “Ready?”

“After you, love,” he responds, taking the bag from her which is the chivalrous thing to do, she guesses.

The entire diner is about to watch her leave with Hook, and the weirdest part is that she doesn’t care.  She’s done caring right now.  The burgers smell too freaking good to even think straight and she is so tired of the way that this down has such black and white definitions of good and evil.  She understands that they’ve had their differences in the past, but she’s watched both Regina and Hook change over time and she knows that everyone here, right down to her parents, are just being ridiculous.

She walks over to Henry, brushes his hair off his forehead and gives him a kiss.  “Hey kid,” she says.  “I’m going to get home and get some sleep.  I’ll pick you up for lunch tomorrow, okay?”

Henry nods, and Regina – who is seated beside him – smiles at Emma.  “We’ll do that,” she says, grateful to have her son for the evening. 

“Why are you leaving?” Henry asks, and she can tell that Neal wants to know too.  She squats down to his eye-level and looks at his beautiful adorable face.

“Because I need time to myself – do you ever feel like that?” she asks, and Henry shrugs.  She laughs, glancing at Neal.  “Guess you got that attribute from your father, then.  I’ll catch you in the morning, okay?”

Henry doesn’t seem too happy (then again, neither does Neal) but she’s grateful that they don’t seem to be caring too much about the location of their friendly neighborhood pirate, who seems to have already exited the building with her food.  She is actually surprised that he’s so discrete, but then again, she is constantly being surprised by how he will always do what she least expects.

She leaves Granny’s, buttons up her coat against the cold.  He is there, waiting for her outside the gate, bag dangling off the end of his hook.

“Thanks for grabbing that,” she remarks, sticking her hands in her coat pockets.   He gives her an exaggerated bow that makes her laugh.

“I’m do have manners, love,” he tells her as she playfully swats his arm with her open palm.  “Of course, you’re going to have to explain to me what a cheeseburger is, but…”

They walk the quiet streets of town in what Emma considers companionable silence, close enough that their shoulders brush as they walk.   She wants so badly to reach out and grab his hand, but it’s a foreign impulse (one she hasn’t had since Neal) so she doesn’t give into it.  There’s only so much surprise she can handle in one day.

“This doesn’t mean that I’ve chosen you,” she cautions him.  “You’re just the only person I actually don’t mind being around right now.” 

The truth – that she wants his company, that she doesn’t consider him an inconvenience - tastes like good bourbon in her mouth, making her feel content and warming her up inside.

“I’ll take that as a compliment, then,” he remarks, though he continues to be quiet throughout he rest of the walk home.  She appreciates the silence, and the ability to be silent with someone as they walk.  She hasn’t had much of this sort of companionship in her life, and this is rare and special and weird thing that it’s a dreaded pirate that makes her feel this way.

Or, perhaps, it’s the naval officer underneath all of the leather and eyeliner.

The loft is so quiet and empty, but Emma opens the blinds and turns on some lights as Hook places the food on the countertop.  She finds some glasses and a bottle of whiskey, and places it on the counter as well.  She pours two glasses of the amber liquid and hands one to Hook.

“To making it out of Neverland alive,” she says, holding up the glass.  Hook holds up his own glass and clinks it against hers.  They each take a sip and she allows the liquid to burn down her throat.

“To cheeseburgers, whatever they are,” Hook comments, raising his glass again.

“You are going to love them,” Emma reassures him.  He raises an eyebrow, and takes a sip.

“To you,” she says, holding out her glass against.  “To Hook, for saving Henry and for getting us home.”

He hesitates before raising his glass.  “I hardly did it alone, love,” he tells her, looking at her with guarded eyes.  She smiles, and takes a sip of her whiskey.

“No, but you came,” she tells him.  “You took us to Neverland.  You helped me.”

“You already know why I did all of that,” he tells her, voice growing low and, dare she say, a bit husky.  It sends a shiver down her spine and she enjoys the feeling.

“Cheeseburgers,” she says, reaching for the bag, breaking the tension.  “Get ready to have a life-changing experience, Hook.”

The cheeseburger is actually the best thing she’s ever tasted.  This cheeseburger, followed by some of the best fries ever, and a sip of whiskey.  So good that she actually moans, which makes Hook look at her with suspicious eyes from across the table.

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes, mouth full of food, “It’s just really good.”  He doesn’t say anything – clearly flustered by her behavior.  There’s color in his cheeks that wasn’t there before, and she wonders exactly what sort of show she’s giving, acting provocatively over a chunk of meat and cheese.

“Emma,” he says softly, causing her to look up from her fries, “I know it doesn’t necessarily mean the same thing for you, but right now – this – it means a lot to me.”

She swallows her bite then pauses. “It means something to me too,” she says, glancing towards him.  “I just don’t really know what it is.  All I knew when I asked you was that I didn’t want to be around anyone else but you…you I could tolerate.”

He laughs, the laugh she’s only heard occasionally – it’s not sardonic or sarcastic, not part of his pirate, façade, so maybe this is the real man she’s seeing, the one that introduced himself as Killian back when she first met him.

“Tolerate, huh?” he asks, scratching his forehead.  “Strong praise from you.”

“Stop it or I’ll kick you out and eat your burger,” she threatens.  He crosses his heart with his hook.

“You were right, Swan,” he tells her, “this is life-changing food.”

They finish their burgers while making small talk, none of it anything too important, most of it working in tandem with the whiskey to relax her.  The more she talks with him, the more she realizes how much she wants to reach out and touch him – his hand, his arm, she doesn’t care.  There’s a part of her that craves his arms around her, and so, when they throw away the trash and there’s an awkward moment of refilling the whiskey glasses in silence, she turns to him.

“I’m tired,” she says, feeling the heavy sated feeling of a burger and fries.  She stretches her arms and closes her eyes and when she opens them again, he’s staring at her in such a way that she wonders if she’s missed it before, this longing that she sees, openly, in his face.

“I’ll leave you then, love,” he says, turning, but she reaches out and grabs him. Pulls him close to her.  Reaches for the collar of his coat, and pulls him into a kiss.

It is unplanned, but when their lips touch she realizes it’s what she’s wanted ever since the first kiss.  Maybe he was right in the jungle all those days ago.  Maybe he would win her heart – maybe she would want him.  There’s no trickery involved in the way that she feels about him right now.  He’s the only one she wants in her personal space, even moreso than her son, and for someone who has so many walls she could be her own gated community she’s pretty sure that this simple acknowledgement is enough to tell her own heart that maybe, just maybe…

It is a lazy kiss at first – the press of his lips against hers, the muffled groan in the back of his throat that vibrates through her body, the sound of the stools being pushed back as she leans against the counter.  His hook hand rests on her lower back, his other hand cups her jaw, and she sighs against his mouth when he pulls back, staring at her with heavy-lidded eyes, lips red from the pressure of her mouth.

“Emma,” he whispers, hand still cupping her jaw, “you’re tired.”

“I know.”  She pushes him and he takes a step back, gently, eyes fixed on her.  She reaches for his hand and leads him into her bedroom, but he stops at the threshold.

“You’re tired,” he repeats, “and it would be bad form of me to – “

“You’re tired too,” Emma tells him, “and I never said anything about _that_.”  She sits on the edge of the bed and pulls off her boots, dropping them on the floor.  “Stay with me tonight.  I don’t want you to go, and if you’re really worried about bad form you can rest assured I am not going to try anything with you when I’m as tired as I am.”  She smiles wickedly, and watches him visibly swallow.  “I take too much pride in my skills to allow that to happen.”

He steps forward, her words bait, and it’s an easy stride that brings him to her bed.  “That so?” he asks, smirking.  This isn’t the pirate she knows but rather the man who looks at her from time to time as if she is the single most amazing thing he has ever seen.  “In that case…”

But he stalls, nervous, unsure of what to do.  They’ve already shed their coats in the living room and the winter afternoon soon means that the room is dark enough that, when he turns into the shadows, she can’t make out his expression.

But she can guess.

“Hey,” she calls softly, patting the bed next to her.  Hook sits down apprehensively, and she watches as he removes his boots slowly.   He turns to her, and she reaches for his hook hand, raising the sleeve of his shirt high enough that she can get to the uncomplicated strap that holds it in place – efficient enough for a man to do on his own.

“Is it – ?” she starts to ask, but Hook reaches for her and kisses her, softly, making her eyes flutter closed and her heart stop.  He lowers his free hand over hers, and helps adjust the strap so that she can take the hook off of him and place it on the bedside table.

Then, she reaches for him against, laying back against the bed and pulling him with her, arm around his neck and lips against his own.  He shifts so that he is lying beside her, now-hookless arm wrapped around her torso, breathing becoming as fast as her own.

And then she yawns, and whatever spell they’ve been under is broken.  He laughs into her neck, and she groans into his own.

“I know, I’m so sexy,” she tells him, brushing her hair away from her face.  He smiles, and it’s the sweetest smile that she’s ever seen.

“I still find you attractive.”  He kisses her against just for good measure before adjusting their position, rolling onto his side and pulling her back against him.  He wraps his arm around her waist, presses a kiss into her shoulder, and asks, “What will you tell your parents if they arrive home to find a pirate in their daughter’s bed?”

Emma reaches for the comforter, pulls it over them.  “First, don’t ask me how many awkward moments we’ve had where Henry or I have accidently stumbled onto them…you know.  Second, we’re fully clothed and third, we’re adults, and I think I’m allowed to make my own choices in the matter.”

“Whatever you say, love,” he says, breathing against her neck, and damn her if she doesn’t almost moan (the moan turns into a yawn turns into a sigh) and she snuggles back against him and under the heavy comforter.

She’ll deal with everything else in the morning. For right now, she just wants this – him – and nothing else in the world can bother her as she lets sleep finally overtake her.


End file.
